By the way, I've discovered that Eiseley did indeed Read The Whole Thing -- to her story hour children. Eighty-two percent were permanently traumatized, two percent enjoyed every minute of it and are now living in the so called "Giggle Room" at the local hospital, and the rest are still comatose from the shock.

You ain't gonna find them Icelandic characters on your plain ol' vanilla qwerty keyboard, Amos! Sure, you can find a tilde or a splat or a bang, but umlauts and thorns and suchlike are a right scarce, lessen you go foolin' around. And if you go foolin' around I hope your wife catches you and and puts a cast-iron skillet where it might pound some sense into ya.

I say we had best look our times and lands searchingly in the face, like a physician diagnosing some deep disease. Never was there, perhaps, more hollowness at heart than at present, and here in the United States. Genuine belief seems to have left us. The underlying principles of the States are not honestly believed in (for all this glow, and these melodramatic screamings), nor is humanity itself believed in. What penetrating eye does not everywhere see through the mask? . . . . It is as if we were somehow being endowed with a vast and more and more thoroughly-appointed body, and then left with little or no soul.

Allen Ginsberg, asks, a century after the first publication of Leaves of Grass,

"America when will you be angelic? When will you take off your clothes? When will you look at yourself through the grave?"

Amos, are you trying to turn this into a music thread?? You know Mom switches you for that! Of course, Bob Dylan reciting "Junior" Whitman does have a certain je ne sais quoi appeal to it. I think (Bob) Dylan doing Dylan (Thomas) might be interesting. Or maybe Dylan (Thomas) doing (Bob) Dylan. Difficult, I know, what with Dylan T. being dead and all, but I've heard that a good engineer can overcome all sorts of difficulties. If you overcome that, I'd also like to hear Shakespeare doing Shakespeare. Thanks!

Why stop there? IF we can animate the voice3s of the long-departed, why not capture the spirit of the great works of art in their appropriate voices. For example, I think we've heard a great deal of Rapaire reading the Winged Victory, and look forward to hearing his try at new roles such as The Personification of Reason...

Now da Naz was a carpenter kiddy, cats and ladies...and goin' down de road he met a little cat wit' a bent frame. And da Naz peered deep into the little cat's eyes and the Naz said, "Wassamater witchoo, baby?" And the little cat says, "My frame's bent, Naz." And the Naz reared back and he looked deep into de windows of the little cat's SOUL and he says, "STRAAAAAIGHTEN!". And the little cat's frame straightened!! An' all the cats and kiddies there are rapping it up and talking it up, and wanna put it on da telebision, put it on da radio, and buzzing around, saying "Look at the lick what Da Naz laid on dat cat!!"

Poor, suffering ladie!! I might do, if this chronic cool marine layer of clouds decides to beat a retreat. We're having a drizzly misty morning with cool breezes and gray slies, sprits of mist, and no sweat.

Why, surely 'tis, straight on!! Dang. And thanks to your impeccable dedication to correct sources, Mister R, I can now correct my corrupted excerpt from a battered memory over forty years of change and improve it from an authenticated transcript:

So The Nazz and his buddies was goofin' off down the boulevard one day and they run into a little cat wit' a bent frame. So The Nazz look at this little cat with the bent frame and he say "What's the matter wit' you, baby?" And the little cat with the bent frame, he say "Well, my frame is bent, Nazz- it's been bent from in front."

So The Nazz look at the little cat with the bent frame and he put the golden eyes of love on this here little kiddie and he looked right down into the windows of his soul and he say to the little cat, he say "Straighten!" The cat went up straighter'n an arrow and everyone jumpin' up and down and sayin' "Look what The Nazz put on that boy! You dug him before - dig him now!"

Dear Stilly, Come and take a virtual seat on my porch swing. The sprinklers are going and a fresh breeze is blowing from the northwest. It's probably about 80 degrees on this quiet breezy porch, and I have a whole pitcher full of icy cold raspberry lemonade. The raspberries were picked yesterday afternoon at the peak of freshness and the lemonade is just the right tartness. MOM's gone back in the house to take a nap, so we'll have the porch to ourselves. Did I mention humidity? It's about 7 percent right now, so it could be 20 degrees warmer and you still wouldn't feel sticky. I'll pour you a glass right now.

I 'most fell outa mah saddle in shock when I saw that name, Amos. Ever since I got this here netbook I've taken to ridin' while usin' wireless ta communicate. I keep the hoss in mah backyard and ride him around the golf course in the evenings and around dawn. Nice hoss -- grulla gelding outa quarter horse stock. Nice ride with mah 16" Billy Cook Nebraska Rancher saddle, just sorta lopin' across the fairways, ropin' golf carts an' runnin' down runners.

I have the other 93% here in Tejas to go with your 7% in Idaho, Eiseley. Wanna swap?

The porch swing and lemonade sound marvelous. Growing up in Western Washington we kids literally grazed in people's back yards. One old guy had put in an orchard when he and his wife were young, but after she was gone and he was elderly, we would creep through the brush and always head straight for the raspberries. Mmmmmmm!

I just remembered that I wanted to mention that I did some beheadings this morning and, until I was stopped by rain, yesterday morning. I'm thinking of changing my handle to "Monsieur de Pocatello", like Sanson was known as "Monsieur de Paris". If you would like to help with the beheadings please let me know.

Charles Henri Sanson, full title Chevalier Charles-Henri Sanson de Longval (February 15, 1739 - July 4, 1806) was the Royal Executioner of France in the court of King Louis XVI and High Executioner of the First French Republic. He administered capital punishment in the city of Paris for over forty years, and by his own hand executed nearly 3,000 people, including the King himself. Charles Henri Sanson was the fourth in a six-generation family dynasty of executioners. (Wikipedia)

I am so grateful to Wikipedia--without it I would never keep up with Rapaire's eclectic meanderings.

You notice we have a nice little Two-Part Invention going here. Stilly and I meandering through the raspberry bushes and the boys going on about beheadings and biblical jive. Now if we just start talking about blood and guns and the guys go sit on the porch swing this will become a fugue.

Well, if no one wants to help I'll continue beheading the blown roses myself and you can all enjoy the color when they bloom a second time. It's the usual thing around here: I do all the work and others get all the enjoyment. My very blood was spilled in the job and this is the thanks I get!

Well, no more! I'm going to paint all the roses transparent! Like a crowded church or elevator, you'll get the odor but won't know where it's coming from!

Amos, just because I Know Things Which You Don't Know is no reason that either you or I have to lower ourselves to explain to the ignorant. Ignorance is curable, and the best way is to make the ignorant Look It Up. As D. H. Lawrence once wrote,

"The last time I slept with the Queen, She smiled as I whispered, "Ich dien."

I'm quite certain that you would know immediately that "Ich dien" is the motto of the Prince of Wales as well as meaning "I serve" and thus becomes a pun of two or more layers -- and still more if you include the phallic feathers. But neither your time nor mine should be spent explaining everything. Let the others have the joy of discovery and erudition just as we did.

There isn't time, there isn't time To do the things I want to do, With all the mountain-tops to climb, And all the woods to wander through, And all the seas to sail upon, And everywhere there is to go, And all the people, every one Who lives upon the earth, to know. There's only time, there's only time To know a few, and do a few, And then sit down and make a rhyme About the rest I want to do.

Now thirty-six and seven posts Have graced these hallowed halls. A lot of thought, a lot of laughs, And lots and lots of balls. Outrageous notions, fast and free Have graced us day by day, Now, let us carry on for Mom Unto the next of Kay.

I am glad to hear your explanation for what I have hitherto conceived to be merely brutal antisocial showing off. And although I suspect your explation is in large part pure rationalization for a bad habit, I applaud that you undertook to at least come up with something approximationg a rational syntax. However, I maintain that in showering your audience intentionally with globs of relative mystery and obscurity, you are not communicating with them, but manipulating them; and these difference is even underscored by your explanation.

It would be more help, rather than betraying the use of a communication line to transmit anti-communication, to inform and educate. Thus, bringing about understanding as a more direct result of your own communication rather than essentially slamming people for not understanding. No-one, even Thee, is of such beadth and depth of exposure and thought as to have no missing data on the world. Why make this a condition of manipulation, inferiority, or punitive scolding? Be of more help and you will be more helpful.

"The Prince of Wales's feathers is the heraldic badge of the Prince of Wales. It consists of three white feathers emerging from a gold coronet. A ribbon below the coronet bears the motto Ich dien (German for "I serve", a contraction of ich diene = ich dien' ). As well as being used in royal heraldry, the badge is sometimes used to symbolise Wales, particularly in Welsh rugby union and Welsh rugby league; however, its use as such is controversial and rejected by some Welsh nationalists as a symbol of the British monarchy rather than Wales. A painted carving on the main gate of Oriel College, Oxford depicting the emblem of the Prince of WalesThe badge has no connection with the native Princes of Wales. It is thought to have originated with Edward, the Black Prince, the eldest son of Edward III of England. According to legend, the Black Prince obtained the arms from the blind John I of Bohemia, against whom he fought in the Battle of Crécy in 1346. After the battle, the prince went to the body of the dead king (whom he admired for his bravery) and took his helmet lined with ostrich feathers. The feathers and the dead king's motto made up the prince's new badge and came to be used by subsequent Princes of Wales "